


Poetry

by sallysorrell



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 17:47:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8926471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallysorrell/pseuds/sallysorrell
Summary: A quick piece for the Star Trek Secret Santa gift exchange.  Combined requests for Spock/McCoy fluff and Data/Geordi fluff.





	

Usually, McCoy made a point to have the evening meal ready by the time Spock returned from work at the Academy.  He liked to avoid relying on the replicator whenever possible, and kept a PADD of Vulcan recipes in a kitchen drawer to help reach this goal.

But today, when he heard Spock entering his code at the apartment door, there were no dishes waiting on the dining table.  Not even half-finished ones.  Today, McCoy had spent his afternoon reading a communique instead of a recipe.

“Doctor McCoy,” Spock began, surprised but not conveying it, “may I assist in your dinner preparations?”

Even after sharing so many years together, McCoy avoided apologizing for innocent mistakes like this one.  He turned to glance at Spock over one shoulder, remaining in his seat on the recliner.

“Sure, Spock, that’d be nice.  But first you’ve gotta let me read this to you,” he indicated the PADD, tapping it with one finger.

“I anticipate marking the midterm biology exams will occupy me well into the night.  What is it?”

McCoy liked when Spock tried mixing human expressions into his usual speech patterns.  This earned a momentary smile.

“That android boy from the _Enterprise_ has been keeping in touch with me, just like he said…”

“I would assume an inability to lie is a component of his programming,” Spock interjected.  McCoy learned to ignore things like this completely.

“...and he’s doing a study on romantic poetry.  I thought you’d be interested in his findings.”

“It is not a particular area of interest of mine, Doctor.  Poetry?”

“Poetry.”

***

_Personal Communique, Lieutenant Commander Data Recording._

_I was recently introduced to the human tradition of poetry, something I assume you, Doctor McCoy, are familiar with.  The subject arose during a holodeck simulation I shared with Lieutenant Commander La Forge.  I reference him often, and with a certain familiarity, but I realize you two were never introduced.  I must tell you about him._

_Geordi La Forge is my best friend..._

The holodeck program began on a beach, one of Geordi’s favorites.  Data easily determined the intended planet, charting stars and studying the composition of the sand.  Geordi was not as interested in this, and had asked the computer to surprise them.  

“It’s not that important _where_ we are, Data,” Geordi explained. “What matters is that we can spend time together.”  

Data considered this quietly for a moment, accessing a memory file to cite in his response.

“This is a recurring phrase in your speech patterns,” he said, “as you have often told me it ‘does not matter’ that I am not human, because we are still friends.”

Geordi, of course, lacked a clear path to this memory, and struggled to find something to say.  After nearly a minute of silently watching the waves roll in, he managed to say ‘that’s true,’ and nothing more.

“You value our relationship despite our differences,” Data continued.

“Of course I do.  Why, did I say something wrong?”

“You did not.  I was merely intrigued by your phrasing.”

“Well that… that’s just like a refrain in a poem, you know?  I think, once you read enough of ‘em, patterns like that can start to get to you.”

“I meant to ask about the way humans would describe this phenomenon, as it is essentially programming your own responses.”

“Maybe, but that sure isn’t the point of poetry.”

Geordi spread his fingers out through the sand, then scooped up a small handful.  Slowly, he sifted the grains between his fingers.  

“It’s meant to be spontaneous and emotional,” he continued. “Every trait you’d define as ‘human’ is what I’d use to describe poetry.”

“Sentimental,” said Data.  

Geordi nodded in agreement.

“Passionate.”  

Another nod.

“At times,” Data admitted, “difficult to understand.”

“Sure,” Geordi said, smiling, “and the best way to understand is through study and practice.”

Geordi set his hand back down on the ground, and let it wander toward Data’s.  They were sitting beside each other on a woven mat, facing the ocean for inspiration.  When their hands touched, Data found himself starting to count the stars without knowing why.  He considered making himself sound nervous when he spoke, but he did not want to give Geordi a false impression.

“I believe I would benefit most from your teaching.”

“Mine?”

As soon as Data said ‘yes,’ Geordi found himself babbling about the poetry club he was involved in at the Academy, about some of his favorite pieces from Earth and other planets, about the preferred subjects of several famous composers.  Data listened intently, recording all the recurrent traits in the pieces Geordi praised.  With their hands still together, he told Geordi that their relationship would be an excellent subject.

Geordi ran his free hand nervously over his cheeks, which felt warm beneath his visor.  He assumed he was blushing.

“You can start with that, sure.  But good poetry is all about allusions and metaphors.  Start subtle,” he shifted closer, wrapping one arm around Data’s shoulder, and gesturing vaguely forward with the other.  “Like the waves - how can you relate those to us?  What might they make someone feel, in the context of our relationship?”

“My research of waves has been inconclusive,” Data said apologetically. “While some cultures regard them as constant and reliable, others view them as signs of danger or uncertainty.”

“We _could_ be all of those things,” Geordi conceded, “but this poem is _yours_ , not anyone else’s.”

“It is ours,” Data insisted.

_Geordi La Forge is patient and genuine.  He is concerned with the feelings of others, even, he claims, my own.  He does not like me to feel alienated or alone._

_I have found that poetry is the best way to understand and document our relationship; it has variety, underlined by recurring themes.  It is capable of evoking emotion._

_I am beginning work on a poem about our time in the ocean holodeck program.  I will attach it to our next exchange, Doctor, with the hope you enjoy it.  Perhaps it will stir similar feelings in you._

_Until next time,_

_Lieutenant Commander Data, Second Officer, U.S.S. Enterprise._

***

“The poem is not attached?” Spock confirmed.  By now, he and McCoy were sitting together on the recliner.  Spock’s original intention was to lean on the armrest, in order to read along over McCoy’s shoulder, but McCoy insisted he ‘quit hunching like that’ and sit down.

“No, he’s not finished with it yet.  But I’ll be sure you get a copy.”

“Hmm,” said Spock.  Over the years, he had mostly unlearned his habit of replying with ‘fascinating’ unless the doctor was being particularly persistent.

McCoy enlarged the text on the PADD, and passed it to Spock.

“Fascinating...”

“ _Spock_.”

“...Your preoccupation with the android officer.”

“His name’s Data.”

“I find it reassuring that your need to humanize other lifeforms is constant, and not lost on me.”

“Well, if I didn’t know you’d better, I’d say that sounded romantic.”

“It is fortunate, Doctor, that you do know me better.”

McCoy leaned over to kiss Spock on the cheek, then finally set to work on their dinner.


End file.
